


Scars That Erased Innocence

by Fallenstar92



Series: Gallavich One Shots [16]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bipolar Ian Gallagher, Character Bashing, Comforting Ian Gallagher, Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Established Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, Ian Gallagher Loves Mickey Milkovich, M/M, Married Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Mental Health Issues, Mickey Milkovich Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Mickey Milkovich Loves Ian Gallagher, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Aftermath, Suicidal Thoughts, Terry Milkovich's A+ Parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:48:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25741573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fallenstar92/pseuds/Fallenstar92
Summary: Mickey has scars-both physical and emotional-left behind from his childhood and teenage years. Sometimes, those scars cause him pain, but Ian is always there.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: Gallavich One Shots [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/729312
Comments: 6
Kudos: 205





	Scars That Erased Innocence

**Author's Note:**

> I tagged rape, because there is a major discussion of Mickey's rape in this fic, that I feel still needs to happen between these two. And just to make my opinion known, I hated Svetlana; she knew he was a victim, and she continually threatened, blackmailed, insulted, and belittled Mickey, afterwards. I truly don't care if she was "funny", she was just as terrible as Terry. Sorry for the mini rant, and I hope everyone enjoys this!

Ian knew his husband-arguably better than anyone else ever had-but there were still parts of Mickey he hadn't figured out; when had he become the angry kid who beat the shit out of Lip? What caused the small, jagged scar on jut of Mickey's right hip? And-most importantly to Ian-how did he get up, every morning, without the memories of the Milkovich Horror House tearing the caring, sarcastic, beautiful man Ian loved apart?

Mickey never complained about it, but Ian knew Mickey's back often hurt him; he would catch Mickey wincing out of the corner of his eye as the brunette helped him clean the Gallagher house, and had seen him rubbing the small of his back, several times, when Mickey thought no one was watching. Of course, Ian was concerned; he loved Mickey, and didn't want to see him in pain, after all. It had taken months-four of them, to be exact-but Ian finally convinced Mickey to go to a Doctor about his back, hoping to some answers.

"Didn't think you would be home, already." Ian commented as Mickey walked into the kitchen, instantly fetching a beer from the fridge.

"Follow-ups are fast, I guess. Never went back to a fuckin' doctor for anything as a kid." Mickey replied with a shrug. He'd been going through testing for weeks to see what was wrong with his back, and he was not exactly happy with spending so much time in Doctor's offices.

"They find anything?" Ian asked, looking back at the cheeseburgers he was preparing for dinner.

"Some shit called a herniated disc." Mickey answered, leaning back against the counter.

"Do they have any idea what caused it?" Ian asked, looking up at Mickey for a moment, taking in how relaxed the brunette looked.

"Know how it happened. Or, I know when it started hurtin', at the very fuckin' least." Mickey said, wincing at some memory replaying in his head. "I was twelve, and Terry was drunk as fuck. I woke up and heard him shoutin' my Mom's name... I ran outta my room-I thought she came back to get us-and I saw him runnin' after Mandy. I didn't know before that-you gotta fuckin' believe me, man, I had no idea-but... I saw the way he grabbed her, and I knew.

"I ran into the kitchen and grabbed a fuckin' hammer. He was so busy tryin' to keep Mandy still, he didn't even hear me-had no fuckin' idea I was behind him-until I took his knee out with the hammer. When he fell, I pushed Mandy in her room, told her to lock the door, and said she couldn't open it until I told her to. Terry was fuckin' pissed; he grabbed me by my neck and tossed me into the wall. I fought back, though; no way in Hell was I gonna let him get to my sister, so I got back up, grabbed the hammer, and hit him, again.

"Fucker blacked out, after that, and I spent the next three nights sleepin' in Mandy's floor. He never did that shit, again, when I was home. I told Mandy I was okay, but my back hurt like a motherfucker as soon as I stood up." Mickey explained, looking down at his beer bottle. Ian was at a loss for words; Mickey's back injury came from protecting his little sister from a literal monster, and he kept fighting after it happened, just because he wanted Mandy to be safe. "I was so pissed off that I didn't know, before that night, I started beatin' the shit outta anyone who looked at me, funny; figured it'd help when I had to kick Terry's ass, again."

"You... Holy shit, Mick... How the Hell were you even walkin' after that?" Ian asked, completely amazed by the amount of strength Mickey had, even as a child.

"Someone had to protect Mandy and my dumbass brothers weren't gonna do it." Mickey said, clearly not thinking much of what he'd said.

"Dinner's done. After you eat go lay down in our bed; I'll bring you the heating pad and rub your back, for you." Ian ordered, pecking Mickey on the cheek before yelling for his siblings to come eat, leaving no room for Mickey to argue that he was fine; he was going to take care of his husband, and Mickey was going to let him.

The scars on Mickey's left hand fascinated Ian; one was a perfect semi circle, taking up the majority of the brunette man's palm, marring his lovely, pale skin, while the other was a long, jagged line. "I was three or four when it happened." Mickey said, one night as he and Ian laid in bed, Ian's fingertips tracing the thin, rounded scar. "I don't remember what happened, but Iggy said I was playin' with Mandy and tripped. Guess there was a broken beer bottle and my hand landed on it. Said Terry got pissed that I was cryin' and beat my ass over it.

"I mean, I was a fuckin' kid, man; the fuck did he expect me to do?" Mickey questioned, talking more to himself than his husband.

"It's kinda badass lookin'." Ian said, causing Mickey to laugh. "No, seriously! Look, it's perfect; looks like some supernatural shit."

"Oh yeah, forgot to mention I'm a fuckin' werewolf." Mickey joked, never one to miss a moment to be a smartass.

"More like a fuckin' vampire as pale as your ass is." Ian shot back.

"Asshole." Mickey chuckled, enjoying the comfortable silence in their bedroom. "See the long one? That was from Mandy tryin' to help me climb in my bedroom window when I was fourteen. I told Terry he was a piece of shit and he chased me outta the house. I was faster, and I ran to the Alibi before he even knew I left our block. Kev hid me in the back room for four hours; had Vee bring him some food-told her he was fuckin' starvin'-and brought it to me when she left, 'cause he knew she didn't like me.

"Terry spent all our cash on Coke, so I was givin' Mandy my food, all week. I was so fuckin' hungry I almost puked when I ate it. Kev ended up walkin' me home and watchin' my back when Mandy helped me climb in the window. I didn't see a loose nail, and it tore my hand to shit." Mickey explained, calmly, his eyes watching Ian's fingers dance over the scarred flesh.

"Always wondered why Kev looks so happy when you bitch about gainin' weight." Ian mused, quietly.

"Snuck us food, a lot, when we were kids. When I started stealin' from the Kash-N-Grab he told me I was a dumb fucker for not just goin' to him. After that... I was about sixteen when he got fed the fuck up and stopped tryin' to help me." Mickey admitted.

"You did what you had to do; me and Lip did shit like that, too. We just went to bigger stores where we wouldn't get caught. You were takin' care of yourself, your brothers, and Mandy. You don't have shit to be ashamed of." Ian whispered, leaning forward enough to kiss Mickey. "Kev gets it and Vee loves your ass, now."

"Thought _you_ were the only one who loved my ass." Mickey snarked with a playful smirk.

"I'm just the only one allowed to touch it; no one's gonna fuck with what's mine." Ian murmured, connecting their lips again, in a deeper, more passionate kiss.

Ian watched Mickey as laid in their bed, wondering why Ian cutting his hair-that he had let get far too long, if he was being honest-had made Mickey rush to their room and close himself up, inside. "I know you like my hair, but, I mean, it'll grow back, in no time." Ian said, hoping Mickey would at least look at him, but he was having no such luck. "I'm sorry, Mick, but it's too hot to keep my hair that long."

"Reminds me of... When Terry caught us." Mickey said, still staring at the wall. "Had your hair buzzed."

"Shit." Ian cursed himself, nervously rubbing his freshly buzzed head. He remembered that day-still seeing Svetlana's naked body on top of Mickey and that sad, haunted look in Mickey's eyes when he'd give himself a moment to wonder about Yevgeny-but he hadn't thought that his hair would cause Mickey to remember that day.

"I can still smell her cheap ass perfume... Still hear Terry tellin' you to watch." Mickey was shaking, now, and Ian hated himself for not realizing _he_ could ever be one of his husband's triggers. They both knew Mickey had Post Traumatic Stress Disorder-even if they were both fucking morons and didn't think Mickey's rape would leave any lasting impact on the man, he'd been seeing a Therapist for the last two years and had officially been diagnosed with it, a month in-but finding all of Mickey's triggers had been a long process.

If Mickey caught a whiff of Menthol cigarettes? He'd start hyperventilating. If he heard someone speaking Russian in a movie? He'd have to run out of the room, saying he couldn't breathe. And the one time Ian had touched his cock when he wasn't remotely hard-which had happened when they were taking a shower and Ian was washing the brunette's body while Mickey washed Ian's-he had shoved Ian away from him, refusing to even be in the same room as his husband for two days, afterwards.

Of course, those had only been-what Mickey had joking dubbed after a night of heavy drinking-his "Svetlana Triggers"; the easiest ones to identify, quickly, if you asked Mickey. As for-once again, a title chosen by an incredibly drunk Mickey-his "Terry Triggers?" Those seemed to take longer to completely identify, as Terry had left deeper scars on Mickey than one night. He couldn't stand hearing anyone yell his name, couldn't drink Budweiser-Terry's preferred beer-or stomach the smell, and the sound of a glass breaking had caused Ian to find Mickey sitting in their bedroom floor, unable to breathe as a panic attack racked his body.

"I'm so sorry, baby." Ian said, softly, throwing on one of Carl's ballcaps-that had somehow found it's way into their room, though neither Mickey nor Ian could tell you how-before sitting on the edge of the bed, insuring Mickey wouldn't see his hair. "I couldn't remember what my hair looked like. You know I wouldn't..." Ian wasn't sure what he was trying to say; he wouldn't intentionally cause his husband this much pain? He wouldn't have left if he knew how badly what happened had affected Mickey? He wouldn't have pushed him if he realized he was struggling just to function like a normal human being, in the aftermath?

"He said he'd slit your throat if I didn't marry her." Mickey said, closing his eyes, tightly as memories of that period in his life flooded his mind. "He told me he'd slit your throat and make me watch you choke on your own blood, and I... I had to fuckin' protect you, so I did it." Mickey's whole body was shaking as he spoke, his breath coming out in harsh pants as he tried to-finally-tell Ian everything. "She knew that, too... A-and sh-she u-used it to get me t-to do whatever she w-wanted."

Ian saw tears rolling down Mickey's cheek as he shook and gasped for breath, so he did the only thing he could think of; he pulled Mickey into his lap pressed the brunette's hand to his chest. "I'm right here; Terry's dead, Svetlana's ass is back in Russia, and I'm right here, with you. I'm where I belong, and so are you. I'm never gonna leave you, again, Mick." Ian promised, softly, letting Mickey take a moment to try and match his breathing.

"Kid's not mine... I faked it." Mickey finally whispered, his face pressed against Ian's neck.

"I know." And Ian _did_ know; he'd seen that Mickey hadn't been remotely hard when Svetlana climbed into his lap, and he knew-even if he'd wanted to fuck her-his injuries were too extensive for his body to react to anything. Hell, Mickey was barely even conscious, at the time, due to the blows he'd taken to the head.

"My hip... I was tryin' to knick an artery. Didn't work, though. I found you at the club, three days, later." Mickey finally said, keeping his eyes on the way Ian's chest would rise and fall with every breath.

"If you _ever-_ and I fuckin' mean ever-think about hurtin' my husband again? I'll never suck your cock, again." Ian threatened, forcing Mickey to look at him. "No matter what happens-no matter what you think or feel-I want you to talk to me."

"Did you really just threaten to never suck my dick, again?" Mickey asked with a hoarse, raspy laugh. "What happened to kickin' someone's ass?"

"We're not hittin' each other, again." Ian said, pressing a soft kiss to Mickey's forehead. "I'll wear hats until my hair grows out, a little; should only take a few weeks."

"Don't gotta do that, just... Let me get used to it." Mickey said, slowly removing the had from Ian's head. "You were a victim, too."

"If you get overwhelmed, just tell me, okay?" Ian requested, gently stroking Mickey's cheek with his thumb.

"Fuckin' gay." Mickey joked, running his fingers over Ian's short, buzzed hair. "Never liked your hair like this, though; like havin' somethin' to pull." Mickey admitted, a blush spreading over his cheeks.

"You're a fuckin' dork." Ian laughed, enjoying the comfort of Mickey's breath against his skin and his hand massaging his scalp. "I love you. And no matter what, that's never changed; prison, Terry, knocking the shit outta each other... I've loved you since I was fifteen years old, and I'll love you when I'm an old, ugly bastard on my deathbed."

"Nah, you'll still be pretty fuckin' hot." Mickey commented. "All that shit... I forget it, sometimes; not completely, but I forget the worst shit. Only ever happens when you're around, though."

"You're in luck, then; cause I'm not goin' anywhere." Ian whispered, tracing the-recently fixed-tattoo of his name on Mickey's chest. "Stuck with me, bitch."

"Lucky fuckin' me." Mickey murmured, pulling Ian into a kiss. Every scar Mickey had-whether or not they were visible-could be linked back to Terry, in some way, but Ian? Ian made him forget they existed; he felt free, and he always had when he was in the presence of the redhead holding him as if he were something precious. No fucked up brains-his own or Ian's-or homophobic, abusive prick of a father could ever change that Ian Gallagher was the last piece of Mickey's innocence; the one piece Terry could never take from him.


End file.
